


the little things.

by eoghainy



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Gore, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Tags and Characters to be added, possible nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: “I told you that you didn’t want to see my face,” Decklyn responds, reaching for his gun.





	1. face.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a slut for making original characters, so i'm going to be posting a drabble here and there with my resident evil oc's interacting with each other, or sometimes with canon characters.

“I want to see your face,” the woman demands, her fingers gripping the envelope tightly. “They say that your face kills. I want to see it.” 

Coolly, the man laughs. He sits back in his seat, his eyebrows arching from behind his mask. Despite her empty tone, he can practically _taste_ her curiosity. She was right, though. No person had seen his face and survived. Alas, this woman was new to this type of market, where skills were bought and sold quickly. He could show her his face and dispose of her just as quickly, truth be told. She would do nothing to benefit the market; her pay was the only thing he was after. What a naive woman. 

“You _don’t_ want to see my face,” he answers. Every part of him is swathed in black fabric, keeping every portion of his skin covered, including his hair and his face. His eyes were visible thanks to holes in the fabric and his mask, but his mouth remained covered. He had a mask atop his face, further hiding what he looked like. It never hurt to be careful. 

“You won’t get paid if you don’t,” she’s sharp, but stupid. If he did show her his face, he’d kill her. “I want to see it.” 

Decklyn laughs. For sure, he’d kill her. She could see his face, for the price of her life. “Fine,” he relents, making sure that there’s no one else in the bar. The bartender that was previously there was gone, and the usual patrons weren’t there. _Good_ , he thinks. He would hate to kill everyone else, too.

His hands remain gloved as he raises them up, slow undoing the firm latches keeping the mask tightly woven into the fabric underneath. It takes him about thirty seconds for each one. She’s hanging onto each and every movement he makes, her eyes dark with anticipation. If he still had any sexual urges, he’d be sure to get off on this, but what that _bitch_ did to him years ago killed most everything within him.

Sensually, he pulls the mask off, cool air rushing through the fabric and hitting his covered skin. He immediately feels less stuffed, but feeling as if it were stuffy was never a problem for him before. Carefully, he sets the mask down upon the table, admiring it’s dark infrastructure. It was beautiful, custom made, expensive and unbreakable. 

The fabric is hooked together underneath the base of his skull, and underneath his neck. Easily, he pulls at the laces keeping the fabric together at the base of his skull, watching as she leaned forward more. He took his time with the ones at the juncture of his neck and his chin, satisfaction filling him. She wouldn’t last long, he was sure of it. 

Gripping the fabric firmly in his hands, Decklyn began to roll it up, hearing the woman stifle a gasp of shock. He knows what she’s seeing already: black veins shoved up against his skin, pulsing with the virus that keeps his body going; black lips hiding pointed, abnormally white teeth; sickeningly white skin that makes every blemish look so stark; and, when the mask pulls up enough, it reveals a second set of eyes below the first. The dimness of the bar makes them open out of reflex, pupils dilating at first before settling back into a small state. The iris itself is a milky crimson, his second set of eyes rotating and moving around of their own accord. His forked, abnormally dark tongue moves to run over his lips, dampening them with the intent of intimidating her. 

“You’re —” She looks at him, horrified, her hands leaving the envelope to cover her mouth. Clearly, she’s never seen someone suffering from the side - effects of a mutated version of the C - virus before. 

“I told you that you didn’t want to see my face,” Decklyn responds, reaching for his gun. 


	2. monster.

Stumbling, Decklyn collapsed outside of the facility, angling himself so that he fell upon his shoulder as opposed to the precious cargo in his arms. He could feel his death approaching him, feel it coursing through his veins, feel it begin to mutate him beyond plausible belief. 

Still, he could see Lys as she lay, pinned beneath him. Her beautiful face slick with blood, her russet eyes wild with hatred. _“I’ll see you alongside of me in hell, Decklyn.”_ She had stated in her lilted voice, her arm moving so fast that it didn’t even register that she had stabbed him, had injected him partially with some sort of fucking virus that she had been playing around with before it was far too late. She was dead now, he hoped. Had that knife been enough to kill her? He could not tell. Lys was like a cockroach; always coming back no matter how you got rid of her.

_“Put your hands up!”_

Someone screamed, and Decklyn’s head swam. “I can’t,” he called back in a thick voice. “I have a baby in my arms.”  _My baby._

_“Put her down and any weapons you have on you!”_

Heartbroken, Decklyn peered down at his last surviving daughters face. Shireen . . . She was bloodied as well, her clothes torn and her chubby face abnormally gaunt. Gwen, Elliot — they were gone, thanks to Lys. Only Shireen remained. 

Cradling her in one arm, Decklyn pulled his gun from its holster with his free hand, making sure the safety was on before he tossed it onto the ground. Next went to a dagger he kept in his boot, and a handgun that was stuffed carelessly into his waistband. “I can’t put her down,” he rasped, aware that his voice was muffled. “I need to keep holding onto her. She’s been through a lot. She needs me.” 

When he finally lifted his gaze up to see whom had surrounded him, he could have choked upon his laughter. The B.S.A.A. recovery team was there, their guns all pointed and drawn upon him, all six of them gleaming beacons of hope in the darkness. He was glad they couldn’t see his face. Decklyn had been quick in slipping on a mask before he exited, well aware that he was going to be quick to mutate. Lys must have injected him with enough of that stupid virus to take hold, for he could feel it burning up within him.

“Identify yourself.” One of the women said, her voice soft. She was the closest to him. “I’ll take her from you while you do.” 

“My name is Decklyn Risa. I work closely with new recruits and with intelligence, mainly.” His one hand still remained up in the air, and he remained still when the woman took his daughter. Shireen made a noise in her sleep, but otherwise didn’t wake. “I gained intelligence that there was another living subject from Project W., and . . .” With his arms now free, Decklyn gestured around him. “The information that was going missing, the research, the viruses and serums and things from the lab — me. All me.” 

Several clicking sounds split the air as hammers were pulled back. One or two of the agents stepped closer, but the woman who held Shireen in her arms gestured for them to fall back. “Decklyn Risa, you’re under arrest for your crimes against the B.S.A.A. You’ll be brought to D.S.O. so they may decide what to do with you and get information from you. You know how this goes, Risa, don’t make this hard.” 

“When have you ever known me to make things easy, Marnie?” He knew her. He knew her quite well. But there was no way he was going back to the B.S.A.A., no way he was going to D.S.O., no way he was going to be involved in anything any longer. “Take care of Shireen, Marnie.” 

“Decklyn —”

In a flash, he was upon his feet, entire body braced for the hailstorm of bullets that embedded themselves within his flesh and in his bulletproof body armor. With a quiet curse that broke off into a pained gasp, Decklyn didn’t manage to get far, for he collapsed upon the ground in a trembling, bleeding, horrific mess.

“Target neutralized.” One of the men unknown to Decklyn said, all of them looking away. Even Marnie, whom had been holding Shireen to protect her from the bullets, was turned away.

“God, someone is going to have to tell Captain Redfield. How pissed is he going to get?” Another woman gave a strangled sob. “Thought we would recover civvies here, instead got Risa. We walked into something way bigger.” 

Marnie, getting over herself finally, cleared her throat. “Mulligan, Tiva, go check Decklyn and make sure he’s dead. Then we’ll call in to H.Q. and explain the situation. This is too much for us to handle. At least we got one civilian out of it alive.” She looked down at the still - sleeping Shireen, her head shaking. “Tell H.Q. this is something Captain Redfield will want to investigate himself.” 

“Roger,” another woman said, slipping away to make the call back.

“He’s gone!” Mulligan cried when he reached the place where Decklyn had fallen. There was blood staining the ground underneath him, but no body, no trail, no footprints.

“ _What_?” Hustling over to where Mulligan and Tiva were, Marnie’s expression became drawn. “Gone . . .” 

“What do we do now?” Tiva sounded small. “He couldn’t have survived that many bullets, unless he were a B.O.W..” 

“We tell H.Q. the truth: Decklyn Risa was killed, though his corpse managed to elude us.” Marnie managed to get out. “That every agent from every organization keep any eye out for anyone matching his description. Though, I doubt they’ll be able to find him. He’s a smart bastard; he’ll elude us for the rest of his life.”


	3. mistrust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love shireen & i love barry just being a dad to everyone

_“— just a normal girl!”_

_“. . . Project W., rebooted . . .”_

_“She ain’t gonna be . . . — ‘in people!”_

Rolling over in her bed, Shireen pulled the covers up over her head and burrowed her way deeper into her own cocoon. Chris was here, again, yelling about her with her father. _Why do you let her do this?_  he’d say, disgusted. _Why do you let her do that?_

Resigned, Shireen wormed her way out and got to her feet, slipping into a heavy sweatshirt to brave their cool air conditioner. Barry had been running hot these days, so it was going nonstop; he said they should either put on heavier clothes, or go find someone who enjoys overheating all the time. 

Opening her bedroom door, Shireen crept across the landing, past Polly and Natalia’s rooms, keeping her footsteps quiet as she descended the stairs. One creaked underneath her, but she was sure no one heard; they were both still arguing, their voices considerably lower now.

“Lys could have done anything to her. Lys was a Wesker child! She knows things that we don’t, that we don’t even have _record_ of. Whatever she did to Shireen could kick in at any moment. Are you ready to risk your wife, Kathy? Moira? Polly, Natalia? _Yourself_?” 

“How can you stand t’ be so cold?” Barry spat back, his voice all fired up. Shireen could hear him pacing. “She was _three_. _Three_ , Chris. She don’t remember her parents. Kathy and I are all she’s ever had. Whatever is inside her, whatever might be combattin’ around and tryin’ t’ make her ‘ _evil_ ’, as you say, it’s fightin’ against what Kathy and I taught her. I have faith that she will turn out to prove you dead wrong, boy.”

Chris snorted as Shireen pressed against the wall outside of the kitchen, her arms folding over her chest. This was an argument she had heard many times before, unbeknownst to her parents and Chris himself. He didn’t trust her, and he had good reason to; but wasn’t anything Barry saying sinking into his brain? Project W. had been dead for years. Lys has tried her best to revive it and better it, but had ultimately failed when Shireen’s biological father put an end to it. It had started, and ended, with Shireen. Whatever was within her would die with her.

There was sounds of footsteps, and Barry made an exasperated noise. “Already the cycle has been broken. You know the basics, just like I do; they grew up in a horrid place and it was all bad all around. Where is she growin’ up, Chris? What is she surrounded by? Love. Sisters. Parents. Friends. Normal experiences. She’s already _different_ because she ain’t growin’ like those poor bastards did. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

“Because I’ve lost good men, friends, family, innocents to the Wesker’s and their bullshit. To Umbrella. To bioterrorism. I’m not willing to risk anyone else, Barry.” Footsteps again, and then it sounded as if Chris was closer. “If she steps even one _toe_ out of line, then forget the work you’ve put into her. I’ll end her before that list can get any longer.” 

Unable to bear listening to it anymore, Shireen rounded the corner, seeing that her father and Chris were closer than she expected. She was almost struck by how old Chris looked; when she had been young, he had looked as if he were in his late thirties. Now, wrinkles fanned out along his eyes, around his mouth, and upon his forehead. His scars looked more pronounced now than they did, yet he still retained what made him attractive. He still moved as if he were young, spoke as if he were young. He just looked . . . stressed. It was to no surprise, either; he was in his fifties. 

“Honey,” Barry tried, taking a step towards her. His eyes were wide with shock, then became dark with concern.

Shireen gave him a half smile, but shook her head. “I heard it all, dad,” she murmured. “It’s okay. If I were in Chris’ shoes, I’d be thinking the same thing. I just . . . I couldn’t sleep because of how loud you guys were getting.” This was a mistake. She should have let them argue it out and just stay in her room. It didn’t matter now. Chris was going to be Chris and continue being insensitive because he didn’t know any better, and wasn’t willing to risk any more people.

“We were just —”

“No, I know what you were doing, you don’t have to make an excuses. I get it, dad, I do. I don’t like hearing it, but I guess it all makes sense.” She took a step back to the opening. “I’m going to go back to bed. I figured that if I could hear it, then Polly and Natalia could, too. It was uh, good to see you again, Chris. Take care of yourself.” 


	4. flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im bad at writing action - y things so i wrote something anyway between my wesker gal & my merc boi and idk 
> 
> its not really the best but im tired and wanted to write something between the two of them and it petered out a LOT towards the end but
> 
> postin it anyway

“Can you fly this thing?” Lyseene asked, her scarlet eyes flashing with something he had never associated with her before: _fear_. She was afraid, and she had a right to be. They all had a right to be afraid.

He shouldn’t have, but he snorted. “Probably not,” he admits, “but I’m damn well going to try because I am _not_ dying today. Not for anyone, not for any company.” Striding forward, Hayden slid down into the chair, his hands running over the various buttons and levers on the glowing dashboard that made no sense to him in the slightest. As a requirement for signing on with Melody’s Underground Gifts, he had to get over his bad reaction to flying, and had undergone vigorous training to both get over it and learn how to handle vessels of all sizes.

“ _Hayden_ ,” Lys urged, taking a step towards him, “we’re going to crash if you don’t do _something_.”

Unfortunately enough, he was aware of that. As if they were miles away, he could hear the alarms going off; screams of failed auxiliary engines, of shot systems, of things that were struggling to work but couldn’t. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the smoke coming from their damaged wing, from the levels of the plane that were inaccessible now due to the damage taken.

“Fuck it.” Hayden hissed, his fingers curling around control wheel between his legs. Sharply, he yanked it up, his eyes squeezing shut as the plane went from a steep nosedive towards impending doom and returned to gaining altitude. The way they were gaining it was bad; they were pointing upwards at an angle now, the entire plane struggling to right itself out and regain its balance. If possible, the shrill alarms screamed _louder_.

Lys had gone flying onto the floor when he had jerked them upwards, and if he had not been holding onto the wheel, then he’d have gone onto the ground as well and lost control. “Get into the other seat,” Hayden rasped, his arms straining to keep the plane steady. It was more work than he realized to keep their altitude climbing and for them to even out; every part of him burned with the effort.“ _Get in_. Strap in. Tell me how the fucking dashboard works because I have no fucking clue.”

“This can’t be different from working the machines down at the labs . . .” Lys muttered, but she did as she was told. She sat, her hands trembling as she strapped herself in and the began examining the buttons and the levers. “It looks like the bottom level entirely is lost to us, and we’re going to lose a wing.” She started to press buttons, her piano fingers dancing along the dashboard almost aesthetically. “Keep it _steady_ ,” she snapped when they hit some turbulence, causing the plane to jerk and tremble a bit more than it would have if it was in good shape.

“I’m _trying_.” Hayden snapped back, arching into the seat as he struggled to pull the plane up higher. “Can we establish contact with anyone on the ground, or in the other quarters?”

She was silent for a moment, but then she nodded. “Yes. We’ve still got a secure enough connection via the coms to the rest of the plane, but outgoing signals and calls might not make it. The damage we’ve sustained might be too much.”

“Tell the rest of the crew that we’re going to try and land in the water, or in a field if possible.” Hayden’s voice was shaking. He was already drenched in sweat. “Tell them that we’re going to redirect the oxygen through the plane to accommodate the prisoners, so get down to the cell block as soon as possible. If we’ve got ten minutes left with a damaged wing . . . then we’re going to have to hurry and land somewhere safe enough. Place out a distress signal to Tricell as well so we can get picked up when we’re on the ground. If it fails, then we’ve got what we need to get to a city.”

Lys nodded, flipping on the microphone and beginning to speak in fluent Russian. Her voice was calm and collected, but he knew that she was just as panicked as he was. He picked up a few words that he knew, like _hurry_ , _danger_ , _prisoner_ , but not much else.

“If we make it out of this alive,” he started when she turned off the com, “you’re teaching me Russian.”

A smile pulled at her lips, one with semblance of sadness in its depths. She didn’t think they were going to survive, and quite honestly, he didn’t fucking blame her. “It’s the least I can do for saving your life.”

“I’m _never_ flying another fucking plane again.” Hayden propped up the wheel between his knees, giving his arms a chance to recover. He still had the plane going steady, somehow, which was surprising as hell. “I’m“I do not think you’ll have a choice with your line of work, Hayden Alexander Moore. Going across the world is in your job description.”

“You’ve got a point, but I’m a stubborn asshole who doesn’t want to fly anyway, so Melody and I are gonna have to go over our terms if she wishes to keep me on as an employee.” If she valued him as a mercenary, as an assassin, as a spy — she’d accommodate.

Silence lapsed as Hayden began flicking levers and pressing buttons, hoping that he was doing the right thing. Some of the alarms went silent, and Lys was typing something into a in - built laptop in the dashboard, completely and utterly focused. They both had their jobs to do now.

“Wing function is at nine percent, and the oxygen is completely rerouted to the cell block.” Lys said quietly. “Three minutes of function left, at the very least.”

Hayden was silent. He could feel Lys looking at him, her gaze sharp — too sharp. It’s like she’s studying him; his tense form, his clenched jaw, the sweat dripping down his temples, the way his entire body was as tense as humanly _possible_. “. . . Any response from Tricell?” They could land if they had a response, and not a moment before.

“No. I got static.” Her breathing was hitching, and it was then that he realized he was feeling lightheaded. “The oxygen is starting to decrease in the cockpit,” she rasped, pulling up a directory of the plane. Red areas outnumber the green by too many. “Lower deck is completely compromised, as is the medbay and temporary labs. Residential quarters are shot, and the engines are working at twelve percent. We’re losing function in the other wing as well.” She looked abnormally pale. “We need to land _now_. The only functioning area is the cellblock. This feels too much like the facility, and I hate the feeling of suffocation.” He could only agree with her. There was no room for suffocating again. “Before we lose oxygen entirely up here, we _need_ to land. Emergency landing if you must.”

Grunting, Hayden began flicking switches. One began lowering the wheels, and since they weren’t over the water anymore, they had to try their luck in landing _levelly_ in a field or something of the like. Fuck, there was too much of a risk of nosediving and crumbling the plane entirely. Or they could lose control whilst landing, or they could skid — too much risk.

But he had to take it regardless.

“Tell them to strap in and prepare for impact.” Lys complied, her fluent Russian still managing to surprise him. “Let’s hope with your Wesker capabilities and my . . . thing . . . we can make it out of this alive and not get our asses flayed by Tricell.” He flicked a final switch, watching as the lights above the dashboard petered out and the screaming of the alarms resumed.

Lys’ hand reached over, curling over his. Her palm was abnormally dry for the situation, and her fingers were tight around his, betraying her fear. She might look at him with certainty and faith, but he knew she was absolutely terrified.

If not for her, then for him. For her son.

“Lets finish this.”

Hayden only nodded as he began easing them down onto the ground.

* * *

Bright light snapped Hayden back into existence, and his eyes began to open, but blood kept them crusted shut. His arm raised shakily, forcing the dried substance away from his lashes. His senses slowly, but surely began to return. He could still hear the remaining screams of alarms, the crackling of flames, of people crying and of metal shifting. A horrific screeching sound that made chills run down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” his numb fingers fumbled with the straps holding him in his seat, not remembering when he put them on. As soon as his awkward fumbling got the clasp free, gravity took over. Hayden fell forward, hitting the hard ground with such an impact that his teeth rattled. Automatically, his arms propped him up, keeping him steady as he fought to get a sense over what shape he was in.

The blood that kept his eyes shut came from a wound on the crest of his forehead, and there was another one on his left hip going up to his ribs. With how shallowly his breaths were coming in, he had to have broken a few; along with dislocating his elbow. His entire body felt bruised and battered, but it was understandable for what had just happened. He shouldn’t be alive right now, he shouldn’t have survived a crash or impact like this, but he did. Why did he survive . . . ?

Jack. Jack was why. The little Umbrella made parasite that was in his brain from the time that he was eleven was why he was still alive.

But then again, Jack was the reason why he was in this situation to begin with.

“Lys.” Her name came to his lips as he struggled to his feet, his knees almost giving out from underneath him as he stood. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to stand, breathing heavily as he found his balance. He couldn’t see her, not yet; but after a quick scan of the area, the blazing field complete with pieces of the plane and grotesque bodies, he found the other half of the cockpit and saw her still strapped - in, unconscious, helplessly dangling.

Somehow, with his bad leg and weakened body, he made it over to her in a stumbling gait. He almost fell, but caught himself on the straps holding her in, wincing when he accidentally jostled her. She didn’t stir.

“C’mon, Lys, open your eyes,” he muttered, forcing the safety belt open. She dropped like a doll, and somehow, _somehow_ , he managed to catch her. She was heavy in his arms, weighing down upon him like deadweight, but in all his discomfort he got her onto the ground easily enough.

“Wake up, Lys. _Wake up_.”

As if on command, those scarlet eyes opened. Her face was all cut up and she was bruised to hell and back, but as he looked her over, they began healing themselves. Her skin regenerated, scabbing over and then scarring over — only to disappear entirely. Her bruises yellowed around the edges and then faded into her skin as if they were never there.

“Ouroboros,” she explained in a weak voice. “I am alive because of it.”

“I wish what I had could heal me up that fast.” His regenerative process might be thrice the speed of normal humans, but, it was pathetic compared to what hers was.

“Come, I can hear Tricell coming. We need to get out of here.” Lys was struggling to get to her feet, and Hayden helped her up, looking to the skies where helicopters were beginning to group. They were obscenely loud amongst the suddenly dimmed noises of the field filled with destruction. He hated it.

“Lys, _wait_! I can’t heal like you can, I’m still a mess from crashing.” Hayden hissed, struggling to follow after her and keep to the fast pace she set. She was all too good at avoiding the fires and the wreckage, but all too good at getting farther and farther away from him.

Of _course_ he had to pick a partner who was inconsiderate to his injuries. Just his fucking luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also know NOTHING abt airplanes pls excuse my awkwardness with writing for them ??


	5. information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried 2 be all aesthetic with the file stuff but i am not good with descriptions like that rip 
> 
> but this basically helped me get a better grasp on what hayden is though i'm still so uncertain 
> 
> o well

The power, surprisingly, was easy to turn on. All he had to do was fiddle with a few breakers, flip a few switches, and then turn on the generator that seemed several _decades_ outdated. If he had to give Umbrella props to one thing, it was the fact that they were always prepared, no matter what it was.

Sitting now in an executive’s office and leaning back in the dusty chair, Hayden pulled out the drawer that had the keyboard in it, finding the mouse underneath a small pile of debris. The facility was still in surprisingly good shape, despite the fact that it had been abandoned for a little over twenty years or so, and to his goddamned _luck_ the systems were still in order.

Thank god for Umbrella workers being paranoid fucks.

The computer tower was an old model, and it was slow with booting up. Because the power was probably turned off abruptly, each system needed a complete reboot, and the screen was a harsh shade of pale pink that hurt his eyes, but it didn’t take very long. Umbrella servers had always been surprisingly fast, even before high - speed internet was a thing, so it took no less than five minutes before he was brought into a log in screen.

Whomever this worker had been, he was meticulous. His desk was relatively clear aside from the debris, and his paperwork was still in good order. After some rifling around, Hayden discovered a master password sheet; once he figured out which belonged to which, he logged in, blinking at the desktop screensaver.

It was the worker, clearly, because he was wearing his Umbrella labcoat with the insignia upon the left breast. He had his arm looped around a woman in a pantsuit, and there was a baby clutched in their arms. They both looked happy, young, and relatively normal. Sometimes he was abruptly reminded that they were normal people who often led normal lives out of work, too.

Curiously, Hayden woke the mouse up, moving it across the crumbling pad to click upon the research files. The computer wasn’t too heavily guarded, and there were a few firewalls he had to get through and redirects before he was allowed to come to an organized screen with multiple folders. He was expecting things to be harder because it was _Umbrella_ of all companies, but because the systems were old, nothing was far too advanced. Thank _God_. Luck was on his fucking side.

The file names were pretty basic, and there were only four.

_File #1; Project W._

_File #2; T Research._

_File #3; P.P.P._

_File #4; Project Snake._

Idly, Hayden clicked on the first, scrolling through the literal hundreds of documents. There were separate subfolders within the initial one as well, each with different names.

* _Albert Wesker: 147 Items._

* _Alex Wesker: 122 Items._

* _Ashleigh Wesker: 38 Items._

* _Avana Wesker: 134 Items._

* _Elijah Wesker: 119 Items._

* _Lyseene Wesker: 152 Items._

* _Visena Tritiyak: 12 Items._

Pulling out a flash drive, Hayden inserted it into the computer, copying over the subfolders and the documents and transferring them. Whilst that was loading up, he ignored the file upon T, and with his heat pounding, skimmed his curser over the third one. _P.P.P._? What the fuck could that be?

Skipping it, he went down to the final one. Project Snake — it was an empty folder, no information available. It might have been a future project that was still in the works, but was forgotten about as the facility was abandoned. Damn shame; he had been kind of interested in a project that was surrounding a _snake_. He could only imagine what Umbrella could do with a snake they fooled around with: a gigantic, horrific, chemically - enhanced snake. That would be his worst nightmare.

Sucking it up and opening the third file, Hayden let it load completely up, a frown pulling at his lips. He had made a trip out to California _specifically_ for the information this facility could provide him with, and this had to be what he was searching for. He didn’t even know _what_ the need to look at this files again was for. All that he knew was that some part of him longed to know the finer details of what he was, of what he was supposed to be. Of what Umbrella tried to make him out to be.

The file opened fairly quickly, and there were few documents in there. Thirteen, maybe seventeen, of various things that were formulas that he didn’t understand, but there was another folder in there that caught his attention: * _Subjects_.

Heart pounding in his throat, Hayden opened the folder, closing his eyes tightly when he saw one of the interior subfolders. _H.M._

He opened it reluctantly, impatiently waiting for the complete document to load up. When it did, his heart dropped down into his stomach, feeling as heavy as a goddamned stone. There were over a hundred pages _just_ about the experiments and his own unique reactions to them.

_#2 - 4: H. broke out in rashes across his shoulders and chest; reaction to a component within syringe. Allergy to what it’s made of? More testing to commence in an hour when hives have gone down. No risk of anaphylactic shock is foreseen._

# _2 - 5: H. rashes have gone away, but light scarring will remain. Reaction is confirmed to be a component within the syringe. Requesting to use different ones for future experiments. Cannot have rashes interfering with research._

Scrolling down past it, and past the black and white pictures of the horrific rash that had popped up on his skin, Hayden felt sick. He hadn’t realized how much he had fucking blocked out from his childhood; he had thought that his memories with Umbrella were so cut and dry, but there was a lot that he just . . . blocked out.

But, _oh_ , what really caught his attention was a snapshot of his childhood self, back arching away from the chair he was strapped down in. His hair was damp, curling around his temples, and his mouth was open in a silent shriek. He was being held down by several different people and straps, but there was one man hovering over him, a large syringe in his hand filled with a thick, dark liquid. His child self’s eyes were wild with fear and pain, face twisted. He couldn’t have been more than _eleven_.

In the next shot, his head was shoved forward at an uncomfortable angle, and the needle was stuck in the nape of his neck, right above his spinal cord where he knew there was a vein. The plunger was shoved halfway down, and the dark liquid that was in the syringe was beginning to map out and spider through his veins beneath his skin. It looked as if it were trailing around underneath the pale pallor of his flesh, the darkness heading in an abnormal direction: _up_.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Hayden whispered, scrolling down to see what the hell that was.

“ _Shown in the picture above is the earliest version of the parasite we have available_ ,” he read out loud. “ _The parasite, in its first lab - grown form — the liquidated parasite form — is injected above the spinal cord and into one of the veins, where it can be carried through the bloodstream and manipulate its way to the brain. It’s progress is noted due to its dark nature, blocking out the blue color of the veins and replacing it with black. The process is incredibly painful for the subject, seeing as how it seems to burn from the inside out. Unfortunately, the subject passes out during this, so no real information from them can be learned. We have tried keeping the subject awake during, but they always pass out regardless._

“ _The parasite in liquidated form, once it reaches the brain, forms itself back into a parasite and stretches itself out. It latches itself onto the brainstem, and then begins to do its job; stretch. Cover the brain and the stem without doing damage. Due to its many available forms, it can switch back to a liquidated state or parasite state if needed, but will remain in this stretchy form unless danger is presented. As the subject or host grows, the parasite will grow with it; it will eventually make its way down the spinal cord. It’s growth is finished when it’s stretched all the way down to T - 6 in the Thoracic Spine._

“ _Once settled in place, albeit, the parasite will lay dormant until activated by an employee or in response to trauma or new developments within the subject or host. The parasite will take on its own personality in due time, and eventually will crush the host’s personality and assume control of the body. It cannot be removed in any way shape or form. Because it becomes like a second layer of skin, pulling it out through a shallow incision is impossible. Surgery is far too risky, for it will kill the host and the parasite with it. There is no trace of existence within the body that the parasite exists. It does not show up on any scan, nor for any test. You can only see it in the beginning hours of it being within the bloodstream, and then it disappears for good._

“ _The parasite is programmed to give the host a sensation of dual personalities. The parasite, in time, will develop its own personality and as mentioned before, will take over the brain to become the main personality. The host, as per speculation, will experience sensations of dysphoria and absolute confusion, and begin to experience the blurring of lines between reality and fiction. During this point of weakness, hopefully, the parasite will assume complete control and we’ll have what we’re looking for: the compliant enhanced being.”_

Nervously, Hayden scratched at the nape of his neck, his hands beginning to shake. There was more. There was _always_ more. This one was dated a few weeks later and already was worrying.

“ _Surviving hosts are displaying new attributes that we never would have thought possible; enhanced strength, enhanced stamina, enhanced mental fortitude and tactical brains. Be it by the parasite’s doing or our own, all of this has been duly noted. Senses have been sharpened, and pain receptors have been dulled, and the healing process is accelerated by thrice its usual pace in humans. We’ve noted that animals no longer like any of our hosts; they immediately move into the defense, threatening to attack. One thing that has also been noted and pegged as concerning is the fact that the hosts are missing key chemicals that allot their bodies to grow and for their minds to stay sane; Umbrella’s own Lyseene Wesker helped create a supplement. The injections have to be taken every day, sometimes more depending on the host and how much they’re lacking, and will be a permanent installment to their daily regime._

“ _Hosts experience withdrawal like symptoms when denied the supplements, so a steady supply has been given to them, to be offered monthly. The supplement also has a dual function; it keeps the parasite at bay, keeps it from taking over the host prematurely. This was something we required for the supplement, mostly because at the rate they’re accelerating, we need to ensure that nothing happens before either the host body or the parasite is ready._

_“In more recent weeks, we’ve found strange things out from the parasite. Apparently, as the parasite made its way through the bloodstream, it left traces of itself within the veins; traces that automatically begin to grow into abscesses. Abscesses that reveal themselves to be larva of the parasite, growing in different areas of the body. These larva have to be removed by Umbrella professionals directly to ensure that all of it is removed. When the larva are removed, the parasite is intelligent enough not to grow more of its own kind. Coupled with the supplement injections and its own rapidly growing intelligence, it cannot grow more of its own. Even stranger, albeit, the parasite is unintentionally producing its own type of virus._

“ _Though T is not an official virus yet, we have tested prototypes and early releases upon the hosts, and all of them turned out to be immune. Everything we’ve had on file, every virus and illness that could hurt a normal human and any one of our creations, does absolutely nothing to the hosts._

“ _We don’t know where this immunity and lack of response comes from, but it’s presumed that the parasite we gave is more intense than we thought. Too powerful. The hosts are developing far too soon, growing too fast, and the parasites are learning too quickly. The remaining pieces of the parasite that are locked within the hosts brain shouldn’t be able to create their own virus, their own immunity to protect their host from harm. They shouldn’t be able to evolve and adapt past what we made them out to be. They’re adapting and evolving._

“ _Request for termination has been sent in to superiors. The project will be picked back up at a later date, but not now. We need to get a handle on their fast adaption before it gets to be too late.”_

Hayden felt like he was going to be sick. Still, compelled now, he scrolled farther down, knowing what was going to come next.

There was another picture of him, this time he was older. Fifteen, perhaps. His hair was longer, his face sharper and more angular, his lips fuller and his eyes wider. He was strapped down to a chair, two metallic looking plates pressing in on either side of his face, and again he looks as if he’s in agony. His teeth are white, practically glowing in the picture, lips pulled back and exposing just how feral he can appear. His hands are curled into fists against the armrests, chest swelled, the echoes of a scream ripping from the depths of his core.

“ _Whatever these things are now, they don’t respond to any type of treatment. We’ve tried everything just short of just resorting to surgery to get them out of the host, even electro shock therapy, but that has turned out to be an absolute failure. Due to our own paranoia, we’ve made it so that they don’t show up on any type of scan, or through any type of testing. We can’t find any trace of the damned things, yet we know it’s there, lurking within our host. We just can’t get to them thanks to our lack of foresight. But never in any of our wildest dreams would we have imagined that they’d adapt themselves._

“ _Superiors have ordered that we dispose of the hosts to keep this contained. Supplement production has been halted, all experiments and testing has been stopped. Something that can evolve past what we made it to be is too dangerous to have right now; T takes the priority since there are currently plans being put into place for the reveal of that._

“ _Hosts have been properly disposed of, all except for H.M. H.M. disappeared a few months prior, right as the decision for termination had been made. No one knows where he disappeared off to, but it’s no matter; when whatever the hell those things turned into takes over, when his supply of supplements run out, he’ll die. Or, someone else will kill him. He’s a troubled kid; someone will kill him thanks to his own bad habit of provoking people. Whatever it is that is going to get him, he won’t last long._

“ _Hopefully, if he does live longer than expected, he won’t be able to pass it on to future children. H.M. will be marked as the final termination soon, and all evidence of our failure will die with him.”_

This time, Hayden _was_ sick. He pulled away from the desk and lunged out of the chair, doubling over, hurling the contents of his stomach onto the ground. The bile stung at his throat and his lips, and he coughed the rest of it out, trembling as he stood.

_Now you know the truth._ The parasite, the virus, the second personality he had ignored for almost all of his life, spoke to him. It’s voice was cold, unfeeling. _You know that just like you, I don’t want to die. Your body, as the host, gave me reason to live._

“You want to kill me.” Hayden gasped. “All you want from me is my body. You want to wear me down until I give into you, until you can take me over and push me to the back of my own head. You want to _use_ me.”

_That’s what I was made for. Now there are more like me, like you. You need to kill them, destroy the samples Neo - Umbrella has, so that we can be the last. So that when you finally give into me, and I finish my time wearing you out, and we both die together, we can be the last._

“You want to be the only one?”

_Umbrella terminated my kin. Umbrella destroyed my family. You’re all I have. It’s poetic that we go out together, don’t you think?_

Hayden ignored him, feeling sick all over again. Instead of feeding into it, he headed back to the computer, transferring the data on himself and _P.P.P._ onto the flash drive.

_What are you doing?_

The voice yelled, causing Hayden to cringe. Somehow, the voice, Jack — named by his younger sister Marnie — could get so fucking _loud_.

_I know your thoughts. I know your mind. I know what you’ll do. You can’t hide from me._

Blood began to tear out through from Hayden’s left tear duct, and it got harder to breathe, but he ignored it. Jack wasn’t assuming control this time.

_She can’t help you, you know. You’ve got too little time left. Neo - Umbrella has you in the palm of their hand._

“Stop _talking_ ,” Hayden snapped, putting the flash drive in his pocket. “There’s no use in hiding it from you. I’m going to destroy that facility, take all their information they’ve collected on us too, and I’m going to Rebecca. You’re going to die, and if it takes me with you — at least you won’t get to control _my_ body after. You’ll just go with me.”

_You’ve tried to kill yourself before, Hayden. I won’t let you die. I haven’t decided that you’re ready to go yet. It is my destiny to assume what’s left of you when I finally break you down._

“It’s my job, my ‘destiny’, to stop you.” He got to his feet, turning the computer off. “I’ve made too many mistakes in my life before and I’m not going to let you being allowed to run rampant when I’m too weak to fight you off. You’re not going to hurt anyone else. Rebecca is smart. She can — I hope — help me. Even if I die, I don’t care. At least I’ll have made one fucking attempt to make Brysen happier than he has been in years.”

_You always loved him more than you loved anything else. I don’t understand you. I don’t think I ever will. I can admit that I have a fascination with your . . . lover . . . but I do not feel for him as you do. I don’t understand it._

“Then let’s keep it that way. We’ve never been friends before, let’s not start now.”

_I look forward to the day you realize that you can’t escape from this, either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aLSO the whole pink screen thing ?? 
> 
> my son is blue / green colorblind; he has no clue that he's colorblind yet ripriprip


	6. whore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk quick lil thing

Slim hands, made to be delicate from lack of harsh work, traversed down the man’s damp neck. Blunt nails dug into his skin, encouraging the movement with quiet moans and fleeting kisses. His lips meeting with the clients terse tendons in his neck, teeth grazing over the most sensitive points. Though the penetration was not unpleasant, it was foreign and unfamiliar; the body atop of his was wrong, all wrong. Too soft where another was hard, dominate where another was submissive, all bone where another was all muscle. 

The sex wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t the best. This man above him was simply focusing upon his own pleasure, letting Hayden get off as he pleased. If he wasn’t high off his ass, then he wouldn’t even _be_ in this goddamned bed with nothing on, legs wrapped tight around this man’s waist, hips rocking up for some damned _friction_. 

His world was narrowed to his own senses. Through half - lidded eyes he watched the door to the bedroom carefully, breath coming in short, uneven pants. His skin was on fire from where the man was placing kisses down his shoulder, down the length of his muscled arm, nipping sharply at his skin. If he weren’t such an advocate for wild, rough sex, that’d have bothered him. But with his fuzzy brain not responding to the stimulus logically, all his body could do was respond on instinct. A shaky sound that sounded suspiciously like a groan came from his lips, and his hips jerked up again, the feeling of such a sensitive organ brushing against a tight abdomen coupled with the man striking _that_ bundle of nerves making him begin to fall apart, rapidly losing the ability to remain objective.

A hand came to be planted down by his hand, fingers curled into the pillowcase, as the man managed to sit up partially. His hips were moving at a slower pace now, teasing Hayden. His body reacted again, a subservient whimper coming from his swollen lips, hands finding purchase upon the man’s back, hips, stomach, _anywhere._ Internally, his brain was screaming at him through the haze, telling him that he shouldn’t be enjoying himself so much. That this was not Brysen, this was a client who had minimal time left. This _wasn’t_ Brysen. This wasn’t what he needed, who he needed. It wasn’t _him_.

The door to the bedroom slowly cracked open. 

A shadow slipped inside, and Hayden watched carefully, giving a little unnoticeable nod. The shadow made their way to the bed slowly, quietly, moving like a cat on the prowl. A gun was drawn, and said shadow moved slightly to the left so that the barrel was pointed at the man’s temple, and the trigger was pulled. The sound that rang out was a quiet click, one that would go unnoticed by the house staff.

Bits of brain and blood splattered Hayden, and he refrained from flinching, staring at the shadow with quirked brows. “Just in time,” he rasped, wincing at the body that was slumped over on him. “Mind helping me, Sasha?” 

The woman pulled off her mask, revealing her dark features and her long hair. “Did ya’ finish, or did I steal that from you?” With her gloved hands, she pulled the man up off of Hayden, letting him wriggle away and get the man _out_ of him. Gross.

“You stole that from me,” he admitted, “but that’s fine. I don’t care. This was just a job.” With a tissue, he worked the condom off the now - deceased client, placing it into a ziplock bag that he had tucked away in his jacket, which was still discarded on the floor. He would never be using that again. “You good to clean up here?” 

“Once I wipe away all trace evidence of you, we’ll be good.” She slid her gun back into its holster, going back out of the room momentarily to grab her bag. “Won’t be too difficult. How was your first time as a prostitute?” 

“Not too great.” Hayden opened the bag and took out the clothes Sasha brought him, quickly getting dressed. Pulling on his gloves, he picked up the man’s pants and dug out his wallet, pulling out the cash he had and then putting the wallet back. “The pay we get will be better than this.” It was only a few hundred dollars. Not enough. 

Sasha was already working, cleaning off Hayden’s DNA on the man and planting fingerprints that they’d be collecting. She used to be a forensic scientist; she was the best at this, and everyone knew it. “Go, you need to check in. I can handle it from here.” 

With a little wave, Hayden exited, feeling entirely unsatisfied and wishing that Sasha had come in a few moments later. He’d been so _close_ , but arousal had to be ignored whilst on a job like this. Focusing on work usually made it all go away, which he was grateful for, but his stomach still twisted with feelings of _wrong_ , _cheated_ , and _need more_. 

Shame.


	7. betrayal.

“Your work on this project has been beyond satisfactory, Mr. Moore.” Melody wasn’t facing him. Her arms were held together behind her back, body turned towards the only window in her office. “Again, you’ve done by yourself what few can do with a partner beside them. What is your secret?”

Hayden stood properly, chin lifted and gaze locked upon the back of her head. Could she feel him looking at her? “My secret?”

“You’re not our typical employee, everyone knows that. Your friends know that. Sasha more so than the rest.” She raised one of her arms, beckoning for the two guards in the corner of her office to take a step closer. “I’ve heard some very interesting things about you, Mr. Moore.”

“And what would those be, Miss Melody?” Something was off. The atmosphere held a tension in it that wasn’t there before, a tension that twisted Hayden all the way down to his core. She seemed to be avoiding a certain topic, a subject that she wanted to bring up in their conversation, but was unable to due to his own avoidance. What did she know about him that she couldn’t state?

Melody turned to face him, her dark eyes examining him as if he were a test subject. Her head was tilted a fraction to the left, just enough to allow her white blonde hair to cascade over her shoulder almost aesthetically. The corners of her lips were threatening to pull up into a smile. Rather than a smile, what he got from her instead was an inclination of her head.

Without warning, something hard collided with his popliteal fossa, sending a sharp jolt of pain up his legs. As if a point of pressure had been hit, the strength left his mucscles and he fell forward, landing hardly upon his patella. Within the same moment, a hand found itself wrapped in his hair and he was being shoved flat on the ground, a strong palm pressing down upon the nape of his neck and fingers twisting cruelly amongst his short strands. The cool tile was hard against his cheek and his sight was stolen out of his left eye, breathing coming in tightly due to his new restrictions.

His body tensed as if he was about to flip over onto his back, but one of the guards was faster. His wrists were pinned painfully against the floor, a heavy, booted foot being placed upon his lumbar spine, keeping him down.

“Shackle him.” Melody’s voice was sharp, commanding. She was clearly aware that this was going to happen. “Give him a high dose; if he is what Ms. Boulet thinks he is, then he’s going to need it.”

His arms were forcibly twisted against his lumbar spine, iron icy cold upon his skin as the shackles closed tight around his wrists. Panic set in, but it was short lived as a pain in his neck surprised him. A prick of a hypodermic needle, and fluids were being pushed into his veins, quickly traversing to the rest of his body without fail. He thrashed, desperate to be free, but found that his body wouldn’t comply.

“It’s a paralyzing component.” Melody walked forward, her heels a soft sound upon the tiles. “Temporary, of course. In a few hours, or perhaps a day, you’ll find that you can move again.”

His entire body seemed to be locked, perpetually frozen. Nothing moved. He tried to twitch his fingers, his toes, maybe even wiggle one of his ears, but there was no response. Everything felt cold. He couldn’t even _blink_. His mobility was taken away from him on two accounts and there was no chance of him breaking free. What the hell was going on?

“Depending on how much of you is a B.O.W., the results will vary.” She nudged his chin with the toe of her heel, lifting his head up. He couldn’t move his eyes to look at her. “You are a B.O.W., isn’t that right? Created from the Sacramento Umbrella branch in California?” She moved her foot away, and his jaw hit the tiles. He couldn’t even speak. “That’s how you do things here. That’s how you bring us in the money. But, I’m afraid your services are no longer needed.”

Melody sighed, a soft, melodic sound. He had been warned not to trust her, and he didn’t; he never trusted her, and yet, his involvement with her was biting him in the ass. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Moore, your addition to our little organization is . . . beneficial for everyone. We’ve never had such high success rates before. You really brought the money in. I never would have realized what you were if Ms. Boulet hadn’t contacted me herself with information on what she was looking for. A man about your age, abnormal capabilities, blue eyes, black hair, retaining a suspicious background and a survivor of Raccoon City?” She tutted. “You’re a wanted man.”

“Joséphine is waiting,” one of the men cut in. His voice was heavy with a Swedish accent.

“Of course.” Melody bent down beside him, trailing her fingers across his cheek. “Don’t take personal offense to it, Hayden.” Those red lips of hers pulled up into a sly smile.

“It’s just business.”


	8. c.

The experimental room was dark, aside from a few energy efficient lights beginning to warm up and thus were filling the room with a soft, warm light. Lys wasn’t present when they shuffled Hayden in and for that she was glad. Despite the amount of time that he’s been here, close to two years, he still remained resistant to their experiments and to their treatments. He’d still fight with tooth and nail to get free, to somehow inflict pain upon them as they had done to him, but never able to get anywhere. Their control over him at this point was too tight, too ridiculously strong for him to ever break free.

“What are they giving him?” Coming up to a younger redheaded woman, Lys peered in through the two - way glass, her heart pounding in her throat. Since Joséphine had found out that she had been an active part in Hayden’s life once upon a time, she had kept information from Lys to prevent her involvement.

“They’re giving him the experimental C.” The redhead replied, hugging her clipboard to her chest. “He’s one of the first that they’re testing it out upon.”

“ _C_?” Lys gave the girl an incredulous look. “That’ll kill him. He’s not immune to it — he’s the only person _left_ that is infected with whatever the hell Umbrella made him into thirty years ago! Is Joséphine _mad_?”

The girl blinked, surprised. “He’s been immune to everything we’ve given him thus far. Whatever is in him is keeping him alive. He’ll survive this.”

“No, no, this isn’t right. Joséphine has crossed the line.” Lys stalked away from the girl, shaking with rage as she threw open the door to the experimental room. She got looks from the scientists inside, Joséphine included, but found that at this point she just didn’t care. The woman was out of her damned mind.

“Ms. Wesker, I believe you have no right to be present with this experiment. It was a breach of confidentiality to even allow you to _watch_.” The French woman was giving her a harsh look, anger gleaming within her dark eyes.

“I’m speaking out of turn, but, you’re going to kill him. His body, as weak as it is coupled with the fact that C wasn’t even _invented_ when he was infected is enough by _itself_ to cancel this!” Lys took a step towards the younger woman, and two orderlies took a step in her direction in turn.

Joséphine was quiet. “If you cannot hold your tongue, Ms. Wesker, then you will be forcibly removed from this room.”

“You’ll _kill him_ and what Umbrella did dies with him! He is the last!”

“Restrain her. Proceed with the infection. Despite Ms. Wesker’s claims, I am _confident_ Mr. Moore has the strength to survive this.” Joséphine waved her hand once, and the orderlies grabbed Lys without a second thought. She didn’t struggle much, not until whomever was administering the test began preparing the large syringe.

“Joséphine, you’ll kill him!” Lys struggled against the orderlies, wishing to _God_ that the virus within her would just come back. Whatever Neo - Umbrella had been giving her, it was repressing Uroboros without fail. Her hips twisted and her legs thrashed, looking to knock against whatever she could push over to disrupt the experiment. “You’ll kill him!”

Collectively, everyone froze when the needle breached Hayden’s skin and the plunger was pushed down. The strain of the virus was released into his veins, and the orderlies loosened their grip on her in order to watch, mesmerized. They could see the thick fluid crawl its way up through his veins, up his arm and across his chest, mapping out his spidering veins and quickly reaching his heart.

As soon as the virus reached his seemingly weakest organ, everyone in the room stopped breathing. The dark liquid seemed to evaporate within in his body, disappearing into nothing. He gave no reaction to the needle breaching his skin, and there was no reaction to the C that ran rampant inside of him right now.

“ _What’s going on? Why isn’t he reacting?_ ” Someone asked over the comm, and the stillness of the room shattered like glass.

“Test him.” Joséphine ordered. “What happened to the C strain?”

The one who injected him strode forward with a fresh needle, pricking the vein underneath and drawing the blood out. When it was filled enough, they strode towards lab equipment set up in the corner, beginning the test. Everyone watched, quiet again, waiting for an answer.

“Immune. He’s _immune_. Infected, testing positive for C, but he’s got an unnatural immunity to it.”

A dark grin crossed Joséphine’s lips. “Put Ms. Wesker in solitary, and take Mr. Moore for further testing. We’re going to discover what makes him tick.” The blonde crossed the room towards Lys, eyes narrowed. “If you _ever_ interrupt another experiment you’re not welcome in again, I can promise you, that will be the last time you’re permitted _anything_.”

She _wished_ something awful would happen to that bitch.


End file.
